


Cold Feet

by SunflowerRose22



Category: Uprooted - Naomi Novik
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Engagement, F/M, Light Smut, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, One Shot, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 17:40:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18057107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerRose22/pseuds/SunflowerRose22
Summary: In which Sarkan drags his feet and Agnieszka is forced to take matrimonial matters into her own hands.





	Cold Feet

   “Where would our wedding be?” Agnieszka wondered aloud, her hand winding through Sarkan’s messy locks of hair. They were in Sarkan’s bedroom, her skin still flushed and tender from their love making. Sarkan had settled against her chest afterward, perhaps with all the intention in the world to doze off, but Agnieszka had been thinking about marriage for a while now. Not because of the curious stares of the villagers or the insufferable smiles concealed behind laced fans of Kralia’s ladies— those opinions had no say on her endearment. Rather it was Sarkan’s interest and delight that she wanted to prompt by suggesting such matters she found trivial, especially if Sarkan himself refused to plainly speak his wants.

   Too often she saw it in his mannerisms his pressing want for marriage; it was in the flush under his collar whenever he sat at her parent’s table, in the curve of his frown as he watched noble men openly kiss the cheeks of their ladies with their fingers entwined, and in his hesitancy and side glances when asked by the Marshal of the Court how they would like to be formally announced. For a man who prided himself on practicality, he could be so fussy. It made her love him all the more.

   Sarkan groaned and sleepily sat up. He seemed to be half listening, a bemused frown defining his mouth. “The capital” he said after a moment. Agnieszka pressed her thumb against his bottom lip. Sarkan made an irritated hum and turned away.

   “What if I want to get married here?” she asked, falling into an amused rhythm. Truth be told, they’ve had this conversation before. Sarkan swatted her persistent hand.

   “I’m important,” he puffed, less articulate than usual.

   Agnieszka sat up as well and started kissing the hollow of Sarkan’s throat. He relented in his resistance, tipping his head back and sighing.

   “Are you inferring you’re going to ship my parents to Kralia?” she teased. The pleased hums of his throat made her lips tingle. Sarkan pushed her face away, obviously trying to string his thoughts together. Agnieszka hungrily watched the corners of his mouth twitch as he worked through what he perceived as a problem.

   “I could rent them a house, just for a few days,” he offered finally, his words in her mouth as she impatiently caught his lips between hers.  

   “I guess I can relent to wedding in Kralia,” she admitted as they parted. Sarkan’s face was quite flushed by now, a renewed sense of want expressed by how he tugged on her shoulder to come down onto the sheets with him. Agnieszka remained where she was, propped up by her hands and leaning over his reclining form. “But I insist on a reception here in Dvernik as well,” she said, “never mind it will be a week or so after the ceremony.”

   “How unorthodox,” Sarkan murmured, his eyes focused on her hips. Clearly this was the most consensus she was going to get on the issue. At least for now. Agnieszka decided to take her losses and allow Sarkan to pull her down.

   Here in his bed, Sarkan moved with the ease of a cat, purring between her legs at his own pace. It dawned on Agnieszka that here Sarkan didn’t feel the drowning constraints of the court or the Wood or of social labels and expectations. He was content here, drinking in her gasps and coos with pleased notes of his own.

   In short, Agnieszka realized Sarkan was no more able to make a concrete decision on matrimony when at his most ease than he could in his normal frame of mind. Thus Sarkan’s loving laughter became choked with hesitation when he saw the downcast of Agnieszka’s face.

   “Did you not want to..?” he asked, withdrawing his hands and easing back on his heels. Agnieszka stirred from her haze of perplexity.

   “Oh no, you can continue,” she said rather absently, “just thinking was all.”

   Sarkan moved so he was sitting beside her, propping up the other set of pillows.

   “When did that start?” he asked, amused by his own cleverness. Agnieszka brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. The candles flickered on their wicks.

   “Does it bother you we’re not married?” she asked.

   “Where did that come from?” he asked, blustering.

   “Don’t pretend you’re not,” she complained. Sarkan guffawed in response but before he could retort or defend, Agnieszka cut in with a pout. “You’re always sulking at dinners.”

   “You know just as well as I do it’s unwonted for maidens—”

   “So you’re embarrassed?” she countered. Sarkan actually blushed.

   “Not everyone shares your idiosyncratic views on domestic matters.”

   “If it distresses you so much, why don’t you just marry me?” she asked, pulling on the world beyond and groping past the discarded fabric and various tools.  

   “Look here,” he began to explain impatiently, sitting up, “it’s not that easy—”

   “But just look!” On the palm of her hand rested a silver band with no engraving or emboss or stone. Sarkan’s lecture died in his throat as he stared wordlessly at the metal. When he did find his voice, it came out in a whisper.

   “ _You’re_ proposing to _me_?” he asked in awe. Agnieszka nodded once, the nerves and uncertainty starting to creep up her back. They dissolved when Sarkan held out his right hand. Taking it, Agnieszka slipped the band onto his ring finger. It fit snugly, catching only for a moment on his knuckle. Sarkan examined it, the metal glinting in the dim light as he did. Then he whispered, “You could have asked for an engagement party, you impatient thing. Your mother is going to hang you with the linens.”

   Agnieszka shushed him, kissing the bridge of Sarkan’s nose. “I wanted to give it to you now.”

   “What am I to do with you?” he asked, reclining into the pillows. Agnieszka moved to straddle his hips, leaning back on his propped legs. Sarkan continued to examine the ring on his hand, twisting it around. He was secretly pleased.

   “Give me your hand,” Sarkan said at last. There was no pomp and circumstance when he slipped an equally silver ring on her finger; just a smile on his face that Agnieszka cherished more than anything the Dragon could offer.   

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly this was supposed to be for Valentine's Day, following my notes I made weeks before on Uprooted and Polish Wedding Traditions. It was only today while I was waiting for "The Promised Neverland" to load because my internet is slow that I was like, "Oh yeah, I could finish this". 
> 
> Also Sarkan is right, Aggie's mom is going to murder her once she finds out. Whoops. Guess Sarkan is going to be a self-imposed widow.


End file.
